Jack
had reached the second floor of the Haunted Funhouse and for the
present nothing threatened him. He took a moment to check on his wounds,
focused his Ki, and used a small slice of his mystical skills to heal
the worst ones. He still felt fresh and ready—although the fact remained
that he was just one man facing a Xemmoni infested carnival that had
most likely claimed the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of victims
over the years.
The room had four exits and he picked the one he sensed went west.
Encased in Darkness
He
wondered how many people had perished that had chosen west. Attempting
to do what hundreds had died trying to accomplish hadn’t slowed him down
before, so after drawing a deep breath, he pressed on into the
billowing darkness.
And
dark it was. A muffling blackness surrounded him. Not only did it seem
to absorb light, but even sound. Soon he couldn’t even hear the sounds
of his boots connecting with the floor. It was like he floated in space,
groundless. An uncertainty enveloped him, like he hung suspended in
space with no up or down, no direction spelled safety.
Just
to assure himself that he hadn’t lost his mind, Jack called out.
Nothing. He tried to speak louder. The silence remained. It was tempting
to scream, but he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.
He tried to move, but again it was like he floated in air and was unable to make contact with any surface.
Is this what being dead is like?
Am I dead?
He tiffed, angry with himself. I need to concentrate.
He flexed his fingers. He could still feel the knife in his right hand.
He punched his own chest with his left. There was no sound, but is
still hurt. He still existed. His body existed, even if they tried to
make it seem otherwise.
He
slashed the air before him, but made no contact with any substance. He
tried to kick below him, but all that did was cause his body to sway in a
manner that churned his stomach. He growled, but of course the noise
remained unheard.
Then
something was heard. A clicking sound and it came from behind him. The
hairs on the back of his neck stood up like a cold breeze had hit them.
Something moved in the darkness. It came for him from behind and he was
helpless.
Grinding his teeth, he figured, I can’t panic. That’s what these bastards want me to do.
He
stabbed upward with the dagger and felt resistance at the very end of
his thrust. The clicking got agitated and hurried toward him. It grew
louder, like dozens of long nails being dropped on glass.
He
stabbed upward with all his strength. This time the dagger embedded
into the ceiling and he grabbed hold of the handle with both hands.
Whatever it was rushed at him, but he used his grip on the dagger to
ground him and kicked back with both his feet. He cried out in pain,
although his anguish remained silent.
He
might as well have kicked a cactus with six inch thorns for his feet
became pincushioned with spikes even through his boots. However, he
might have knocked the thing over for an explosion of scratched and
scrapings were heard. Lucky for him, the spikes tore free and didn’t
remain in the soles of his feet.
Jack
swung forward and then swung back again. Behind him the creature
sounded like it had regained its footing. Jack swung forward again, but
this time let go of the dagger. For a moment, he swung weightless and he
wondered if the gravity well would draw him back in. Instead he was
suddenly falling. The unexpected impact with the floor drove the air
from his lungs.
His
head turned and he took in his foe. It was some sort of mangled cross
between a bear and a porcupine, with perhaps a dose of zombie thrown in.
It stank as bad as it looked and he wondered why he couldn’t smell it
before.
His
primary weapon remained impaled in the ceiling, so he grabbed his hand
axe out of his leather jacket just as the thing charged him. Jack dove
to the side—careful to avoid the churning silent darkness. The thing was
awkward at best and missed him. The Stalwart gained his footing before
the thorned monstrosity charged him again.
Figuring
he wanted the beast no where near him, Jack hurled his hand axe at its
face. The thorns slowed the impact, but he did draw blood on the
creature’s cheek. It remained silent, but looked at him with dark eyes
that blazed with hatred.
Circling
the darkness, Jack headed back the way he had come. The walking cactus
pursued him, but slowly. Jack wondered if somehow its mass had been
increased so it could move through that gravity well, but such matters
of physics remained far beyond his education.
Looking
behind him, he saw that the manhole cover he had just passed through
had stayed closed, but he hurried into the room and searched for a
switch. The buttons on the floor that had closed the passage, did
nothing to open it and Jack started to feel dread as the lumbering thing
drew near.
Only
then did Jack notice some toggles on the wall. “This had better work.”
He said out loud and suddenly the thing stopped and began to wail.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like noise.”
A keening low pitched cry answered him.
“Well screw you then!” He yelled.
The beast fell to his knees.
“So how many people have you killed and tortured, you ugly freak?”
It wailed louder.
Jack
drew two throwing knives out of his jacket and ran them over the metal
walls while screaming. “DID YOU HURT THEM THIS MUCH OR MORE?”
The
beast toppled over and even though Jack knew the horror had murdered
countless innocents, its pitiful state left him feeling sick. He sung
his favorite DOA song at the top of his lungs as he drew near the
cowering creature. In what he figured was an act of kindness, he drew
his knife across the thing’s throat.
“One
more down,” he grumbled, as he returned to the room of silence. He had
hoped the darkness might have been dispelled, but he wasn’t that lucky.
His knife would have to remain there. Retrieving it could be too risky.
His hand axe was recovered and rested in his hand as he continued deeper
into the Haunted Funhouse.
To be continued next Monday
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